


Transformations

by tamiveldura



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus!Harry, M/M, Werewolf!Draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4814999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamiveldura/pseuds/tamiveldura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry hides in the forbidden forest to practice restricted magic and comes face to face with a werewolf. Post-Dumbledore death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He should have asked Hermionie for help. And practically speaking, she probably already knew. Its hard to keep a mandrake leaf in one’s mouth for a month without anyone noticing at all. Harry tongued said leaf back into the corner of his cheek where his teeth could pin it in place. He expected it to be mush after a day, but aside from a small tear it was still as fresh as the day he picked it.

But still, trying this without any witnesses felt like a better option. He didn’t trust… well after that day in the Astronomy tower, he didn’t trust much of anyone.

Harry frowned and pulled himself back to the present. He was far enough into the forbidden forest now, he couldn’t see the castle from here. He glanced about and saw nothing extraordinary. Harry tongued the leaf back into his cheek and closed his eyes.

In theory he could do this without a wand or even an incanation, but standing around waiting hadn’t done him a lot of good. Eyes closed, he drew out his wand and settled it in his hand. He took a deep breath, flicked the wand, and whispered.

Nothing changed.

He clenched his jaw and repeated the gesture. But he felt nothing. What was transforming supposed to feel like? Neither Sirius nor Professor McGonnagal had shown any kind of disorientation or queasiness, but did their confidence come with practice?

He huffed and felt the warm breath billow back against his face. It didn’t quite cover up the sound of leaves sliding against the dirt. A twig snapping. Harry flicked his eyes open just a touch. He was in the middle of a stand of trees, but nothing obscured him from view if someone had stumbled into the space.

Of course, nothing in the forbidden forest did much stumbling unless they were injured. Harry remained perfectly still. He was rewarded with the sound, again. The slide of wet leaves and something heavy scratching the bark of a tree. Then a werewolf stepped into view and Harry stopped breathing. The creature snarled, breath heaving. Saliva dripped from its teeth and its eyes glowed yellow.

His heart raced and he resisted the urge to run. Harry’s first thought was Remus, but no, of course not. This wolf was smaller, more pale.

And it collapsed on the ground. Harry realized it wasn’t snarling, it was cringing. And once on the ground it curled up and whined. Harry stepped forward (what was he going to do, comfort it?) and realized everything was wrong.

His hands were on the ground, he had no robes, his head was very heavy. He turned in place and found hooves and a dun tail behind him. He wasn’t human. His transformation had worked!

The werewolf huffed and whined again, curling huge paws around its ears. Harry stepped delicately around it, no longer afraid. Werewolves were only a danger to humans, and Harry was no longer human. Remus once told him how Sirius and his father kept him company in their animagus forms, kept him mostly sane during the night.

Harry knelt beside the werewolf’s curled back, an awkward folding of long limbs. Despite its slim shape and shivers, heat pulsed from the creature in waves. It whimpered. Harry rested his head on the wolf’s shoulder and let out his breath in a big cloud.

The creature shivered for a long time. But the whining stopped, the whimpering faded, and eventually the forest grew lighter.

Something twittered in the trees. The body beside him rolled and contorted. Harry lifted his head. The werewolf curled up on his knees and forearms, like the world’s worst stretch. Then the fur split down the spine and the human inside yanked himself free.

Wet. Shaking. A mat of blond hair over his eyes. The man crashed into the leaves and breathed, unable to stand. Harry watched from his spot on the ground. Eventually the man gained his breath and his strength. When he stood a second time, Harry recognized the square of his shoulders and the set of his mouth.

Harry lunged to his hooves and startled several yards away as Draco slicked the damp hair from his face. But the expression Harry saw there didn’t match the arrogant entitlement he was used to seeing. Instead there was fear. And gratitude.

Draco glanced up and around but they were out of sight of the castle. His shoulders dropped a little. The harsh set of his mouth parted. Draco stared at Harry and let himself shudder. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Harry stayed in place, tail up, ears forward, ready to run.

Draco cleared his throat and tried again, “Thank you.” He took a step closer. “I don’t know who you are, or why you stayed, and you don’t have to tell me. I’m just glad you did.” Draco lifted his hand. His slim, manicured, aristocratic hand, and Harry was hit with an echo hard enough to flinch. Of a blond boy on a train extending his hand in greeting.

Harry hadn’t regretted dismissing him until now. Draco hesitated at Harry’s lack of response, his fingers curling a little, his hand drifting back… so Harry stepped forward and pressed his nose to Draco’s palm. It was warm.

Draco pet the length of his nose, curled his fingers around Harry’s cheek, stepped close and leaned against his broad neck. Harry tilted his head away to avoid catching his antlers in Draco’s hair. And he blew warm air, like a cloud.

“I come out here for every full moon. The next one starts on the fourth.” Draco stepped away, once more squaring his shoulders and setting his mouth. But his eyes still exposed him. “I’ll look for you.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just turned toward the castle. Typical Malfoy, thinking Harry would show up whenever he was demanded. Ridiculous. He had better things to do than escort him around the woods all night.

Things like practicing his animagus transformation. In the forest. On the fourth. He was probably free.


	2. Chapter 2

The Slytherin common room was a cathedral-like space despite being so far underground. Braziers burned along the walls and along the center pathway between plush couches and chairs collected around conversational tables. The space was quiet when he entered, but became downright grave-like as students noticed he was there.

 

Draco held his head high and looked straight ahead. The visible damage from last week's trip to the forbidden forest was gone, but the whispers of his involvement with the Death Eaters, and by extension, Dumbledore's death, had yet to die down.

 

He'd deserve it if they never went away. Draco shouldered more guilt around that night than his father had ever heaped on him in the past. By all rights he should be expelled at the very least. But no one from Slytherin would say it out loud. The House stood by their principles: Slytherins wouldn't turn on their own. But no one offered help, either. It was clear they considered him a lost cause.

 

And so, despite his status as a Prefect, Draco endured the walk of shame through his peers.

 

At the last second he turned from the dormitory stairs toward the observatory. His very presence cleared the room of occupants and Draco looked down to cover his wince. There was once a time he could clear a room out of respect. Now people ran from him in digust. How far his mighty House had fallen.

 

With an unsteady wave of his hand, Draco sealed the observatory from any other visitors. At least that way he could pretend his solitude was by choice. He found a comfortable bag of beans at the center of the spelled dome and lay down. The observatory stretched far into the depths of the lake and nearly the entire room was clear. With Draco's presense, the outer lights blinked on, letting the lake inhabitants know someone was there.

 

Seaweed and grindilows swayed with the current. Soothing greens and blues filtered into the observatory. Draco relaxed. His shoulders slouched and he let go of the severe expression on his face.

 

He was _tired_.

 

The aches from last week slowly made themselves known: a tweak in his spine, the lingering bruises around his wrists from his attempt at self-restraint, the bone-deep twist of wrongness that was being in human form. DADA class never mentioned how a werewolf quickly began to prefer the monster over the man.

 

Something knocked on the observatory glass. Draco spotted the long shark-like tail of a mermaid as she twisted and curled over the dome. Her hands flew into a tangle Draco couldn't easily follow. He sat up and signed, _Welcome._ No, _Hello_. Dammit, his signing was beyond rusty.

 

The mermaid gestured more slowly. _Why are you here? Alone?_

 

_This is my dorm. I live here._

 

The mermaid swam in a tight, irritated circle. _Your pack lives here, too?_

 

Draco hesitated. No one at the castle knew, but it was inevitable that he'd run into someone who could see his… disease. His fingers formed words awkwardly, _I have no pack._ Not unless he counted-- no. He had no pack. Until now he wasn't sure he was supposed to have one. _What do you know about werewolves?_

 

_Everything._

 

Draco sat up in the bag. _How do I cure it?_

 

_Cure? Being wolf is not a sickness. You were born with it._

And in an instant his hopes crashed to the ground. He shook his head. _I wasn't born. I was bitten._

 

The mermaid gave him an odd look. After a moment she swam away. Draco collapsed into the bean chair again and rubbed his face, groaning. Of course the mermaids wouldn't know about werewolves. How many wolves ended up in the lake? How many mermaids walked around on the land? Draco slammed his fist into the forgiving bag.

 

In less than three weeks he'd be out in the forest again and his last attempt at locking himself away had utterly failed. By the look of the ropes, they hadn't even put up a fight when he'd gone back to check. Draco didn't remember snapping through them. He didn't remember much of anything until the deer.

 

The deer. That was no wild animal. It stayed by his side and seemed to understand when he spoke… It had to be someone in animagus form. No one at the school was registered as a stag, he had that short list memorized. So it was someone unregistered. Unfortunately, a lot of people would find a use for that particular brand of illegal magic.

 

Draco let his head fall back on the bag. The necklace under his shirt shifted. He drew it out. The crest of the house of Malfoy gleamed in sterling silver. He'd never thought the strength of his history could crash and burn so completely. He spun the charm on the chain and let his eyes unfocus. The lake's blues and greens swayed. They eventually lulled him to sleep.

 

The slide of the observatory wall jerked Draco awake. The castle exposed him to the common room, empty. Everyone was in bed or otherwise and Draco heaved himself up from the bean bag chair to stand among the low-lit braziers. He should go to bed.

 

A shadow darted on the other side of the observatory glass. Draco frowned. The mermaid didn't know how the werewolf curse was spread, she was probably wrong about packs as well.

 

He turned toward the dormitory stairs.

 

 


End file.
